The Vitals

My name is Kristin. I live with my husband (A.), three young sons (Cubby, Charlie, and Jack), and old collie dog (Mia) less than a mile from the Canadian border in the far northern woods of upstate New York. Once upon a time I was going country. Now I'm gone.

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Saturday, December 1, 2012

Cubby did not have a good morning this morning. I don't know if it's the remains of the cold he's still dealing with, or a bad night's sleep, or just general cussedness, but there were many fits and tantrums and tears.

The morning can probably best be illustrated by the episode in which he was reduced to hysterical tears for a good ten minutes (which were, of course, not good AT ALL) when he continued to shoot at me with the Oklahoma piece from his United States puzzle (admittedly gun-shaped, though I never noticed the resemblance until today) despite a warning that I would take it if he kept doing that*. He did, so I did.

Yes, I have been reduced to confiscating Oklahoma from my toddler for inappropriate use of a puzzle piece. Super.

I can only hope he wakes up from his nap with a better attitude. He's not getting that stupid puzzle back, that much I know.

* Keeping him from pretending every blessed thing is a gun would be a futile endeavor, but I refuse to be menaced by vacuum cleaner attachments or his recorder all the livelong day. Which is exactly what would happen if I didn't enforce the rule that pretend shooting at me results in real confiscation. And it still happens every day. I will never fully understand this innate boy thing. I just find it irritating.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

There is no denying that Cubby is a challenging child. He's scary-smart--scary because he remembers every single thing you ever do or say and will tell you in no uncertain terms if you say something wrong or do something he doesn't think is right--incredibly high energy, very articulate and vocal (translation: he never stops talking), aggressive and physical, and just the tiniest bit stubborn (translation: kid's a damn mule).

I love him dearly, but he wears me out on a daily basis.

Luckily for him, he also entertains me on a daily basis. Like the other day when I was making dinner and he came clomping into the kitchen in this outfit:

This child is nothing less than awesome, am I right?

I guessed correctly that he was going hunting. He then informed me that he was going hunting for deer with his .22. I remarked that the necklaces were an interesting accessory to his hunting outfit. He explained that the necklaces were so the other hunters wouldn't think he was a deer and shoot him.

Monday, November 26, 2012

I'm just gonna come right out and say this: I am not a fan of baby-wearing.

Baby-wearing, for those of you who are possibly not as immersed in All Things Child as I am, means strapping the kid to you like some kind of marsupial and hauling it around on your very body. As opposed to a stroller or something.

It hurts me. Literally, I mean. Carrying around an extra 16 pounds of dead weight hanging on my shoulders means that my muscles are always sore. But I do it because I have that other child who requires a lot of outside time and must be followed around constantly. And now it's cold, so to keep Charlie warm, he needs my body heat.

Luckily, I bought this awesome L.L. Bean wool coat at the thrift store last winter that mostly zips up around both me and Charlie.

And makes me appear perpetually pregnant.

Charlie, unsurprisingly, is a big fan of this arrangement. He very, very rarely cries when he's strapped to me, and in fact usually falls asleep.

When he hasn't been mainlining caffeinated milk, apparently. That's one wide-awake child.

And so I will wear him, all the while dreaming of the day I have two fully bipedal children. That will be a happy day, indeed.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

I did not find this entirely amusing, considering my chronic sleep deprivation. So I ate the stupid cookie in retaliation. Serves it right.

In related news, Charlie ate about two tablespoons of yogurt today. At Charlie's four-month check-up, the doctor was all, "No hurry in giving solids to a breastfed baby." And I was all, "A breastfed baby who is as big as his nine-month-old cousin and isn't sleeping more than two hours at a time at night is getting solid food."

But I only said it in my head.

The doctor also reminded me to start with rice cereal and then progress to the orange vegetables. I nodded, all the while intending to start Charlie with yogurt, just as I did with Cubby, who is probably the best eater in the almost-three-year-old category that I have ever encountered. Why mess with success, right?

So everyone cross your fingers that getting some solid food encourages Charlie to maybe make it four whole hours without waking up at night.